Stray
by dzio
Summary: Meow?" said the cat. House stared at him and tilted his head. "Buddy, I think you've got the wrong address." R
1. Chapter 1

**A/N**: For a standard disclaimer see my profile. The lyrics on top are from "Ironic" by Alanis Morissette and I don't think I have to tell you that I'm not her either. You can expect Chapter Two in a day or two. Unless I get lazy again, of course.

**oooooooooooo**

"_Life has a funny way of sneaking up on you._

_Life has a funny, funny way of helping you out,_

_helping you out."_

**oooooooooooo**

Someone was scratching at his door.

It had been a long week. The patient discharged yesterday had set a new record in tiresomeness. The amount of tests that had to be ran on him would be enough to diagnose the entire legion of regular, sick morons. New symptoms had appeared faster than pimples on a chocolate-addicted fifteen year old. And if that hadn't been enough, his heart had stopped four times in five days and he had had to be put on a respirator on six separate occasions. House suspected that since Monday the asshole had spent more time flat-lining than he sleeping in his own bed.

Now it was Saturday evening, the irritating idiot left the hospital completely healed and could go irritate someone else, and House was sprawled on his couch, catching up on all his favorite soaps. His Vicodin was standing on the coffee table, next to a box of the best take-out chili in Princeton and two empty Grolsch bottles. House was currently working on a bottle number three and in his opinion that was a perfect evening. Then he heard the scratching.

At first he thought it was the TV. The old thing had seen better days, so it was possible it would start making suspicious noises right in the middle of the dramatic season finale of "General Hospital". Irritating, yes - but possible. House turned the TV on mute. It didn't help.

His next suspects were the neighbors upstairs - a young, childless married couple who either obsessively redecorated their apartment every few days at ungodly hours, or simply liked to have noisy sex on every piece of furniture they owned. Usually they were the ones responsible for the loud bangs, waking him up in the middle of the night.

House sat up and held his breath, listening closely. No, that wasn't it. The sound was clearly coming from the direction of the door. Which left only one explanation.

"I'm not getting up! Let your sorry ass in yourself, Wilson!" yelled House. The scratching stopped and something behind the door squeaked thinly.

"Wilson?"

"Mui!"

"What the hell?..." House scratched his head in surprise. For a moment he considered ignoring the strange event, but finally the curiosity won.

House dragged himself to his feet and limped towards the door. He promised himself that if he would see a stupidly smiling Wilson behind it, he would smack him on a head with his cane.

House opened the door and almost fell, when a brown, furry and completely soaked _something_ dashed between his legs and inside the living room. House caught his balance, looked around the hall to make sure and, not noticing anything or anyone out of the ordinary, he closed the door and turned around.

There was a cat sitting next to the couch. A rather small, brown cat with huge, terrified eyes, shivering from cold and leaving a wet stain on his carpet.

"Meow?" said the cat.

House stared at him and tilted his head. "Buddy, I think you've got the wrong address."

"Meow."

"Seriously. The nice old lady lives on the third floor. I'm a mean asshole, who doesn't like unexpected guests. And especially drenched to the skin unexpected guests, who look like drowned rats and drop by at the very moment when Nurse Mary is about to take her blouse off."

The cat glared at him, looking insulted, and started licking his right paw.

House sat on a bench next to the piano and watched the cat, busy with drying his fur.

"And what am I supposed to do with you now?" he asked the cat after short deliberation.

"Meow."

"Well, yeah, that's one option."

"Meow?..."

"Oh come on, I'm not _that _much of a bastard. It's November, it's raining, I'm not going to throw you out the door."

"Mrau..."

"Don't look so happy, you furry idiot, I didn't say you could stay."

The cat stopped licking his tail and looked House straight in the eye.

"That old lady is really very nice."

"Meow!" said the cat categorically.

House ran over the list of people he knew, who could be presented with a wet cat.

"How about Cameron?" he suggested. "She is even _too _nice. And she has a habit of adopting every stray she runs into. She even tried to adopt me."

"Meow!"

"Chase? You could play with his hair."

"Meow!"

"Cuddy? Shit, no. Cuddy's allergic to cats... Wilson?"

"Mui!" Another thin squeak, in place of normal meowing.

"Mm? You want to live with Wilson?"

"Mui!"

"Well, good choice, Jimmy is a good guy, we'll call him right away... Damn!" groaned House, remembering something important. "No can do, cat."

"Meow?"

"Wilson..."

"Mui!"

"...is on a conference in New York. For the whole week."

That was the end of the list. House tried to convince himself that he shouldn't give a damn about the cat and kick him outside, rain or on rain, but somehow it didn't work. Tormenting his employees, employers, patients, their families and innocent bystanders was one thing. Throwing frightened little animals out in a freezing November rain was a different matter altogether.

House sighed in defeat. "Fine, you can stay."

The cat smiled, showing out all his teeth, like only cats can, stretched his back and ran up to House, rubbing against his legs.

"Mrau..."

"You're welcome. And you're out of here, as soon as I think of something."

The cat looked at him, as if trying to say he didn't believe him.

House leaned down and scratched him behind the ear. The cat purred loudly. "I suppose I should name you, right?"

"Meow."

"Christ, if Wilson..."

"Mui!"

"...could see me now, he would _never _let me live it down."

House stood up and went to the kitchen, with the temporarily nameless cat weaving around his ankles. In the fridge he found the light, old cheese, mustard and the leftovers from yesterday's dinner, which he planned to eat tomorrow for breakfast. The cat looked at him pleadingly.

"I don't suppose you like mustard?" he asked, opening the jar and giving it for the cat to sniff.

The cat took a step back and shook his paws with disgust. "Meow!"

"Wilson..."

"Mui!"

"...doesn't like it either."

House eyed the tuna salad with regret. "Fine, you can have it" he said, putting some in a bowl.

He went back to the living room, with a happily purring cat trailing behind him and put the bowl down on a floor, next to the couch. He sat carefully and reached for his beer. The salad was gone in a flash and after a moment the cat joined him on the couch.

"You know what, Wilson..."

"Mui!"

"...always sits there."

The cat stretched himself out on the leather cushions and House, focusing back on the TV, reflexively begun scratching his ears.

"So, about that name?" he asked the cat, purring with contentment, after a minute. "Any ideas?"

"Mui."

House looked at him. "You sure?"

"Meow."

"All right, why not. Wilson it is."

**oooooooooooo**

tbc.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N**: For a standard disclaimer see my profile. Thank you very much for all your reviews, I hope you'll like this chapter as well. : Chapter Three should be up tomorrow.

**oooooooooooo**

"General Hospital" was over and House switched to Wednesday's Monster Truck Rally in Seattle. TiVo really is a brilliant invention...

Half an hour later he begun to doze of, so reluctantly he started to get up, waking Wilson, who was sleeping curled up on his knees, in the process.

"Hey, don't give me that look, I'm not spending the whole night here."

The cat looked at him reproachfully. "Yeah, right, you'll be all cozy and comfortable and I won't be able to move my right leg in the morning. I'm going to bed."

House stood up and yawned. Wilson stretched, bending his back in a way that should be anatomically impossible and followed him.

"And where do you think you're going?"

The cat tilted his head and looked in the direction of House's bedroom.

"Oh no, you don't. Rule number one - you don't get to sleep in my bed, unless you're a long-legged twenty year old with no inhibitions."

"Meow?"

"Besides, if anyone found out I let a cat sleep on my pillow, my reputation would be ruined. Someone might think I'm nice and have a good heart. And then what?"

"Meow?"

"Cameron would fall in love with me all over again."

"Meow?"

"No way, do you have any idea how hard it was to get rid of her the first time? And Wilson..."

"Mui!"

"...would say I'm turning into an old lady and would by me an embroidery hoop for my next birthday."

The cat rubbed against his legs and looked up at him pleadingly. House almost smiled, but he caught himself in time. What was that little pest doing to him?

"Okay, fine. Just this once!" he pointed out in a grim voice. It didn't impress purring Wilson one bit. House expected he would have to prepare a new list of arguments for the next night.

**oooooooooooo**

House blindly reached for the clock on his nightstand and switched off the alarm. For a moment he lay buried under the covers, waiting for his brain to wake up. And for his right leg to start demanding it's morning dose of Vicodin.

Few minutes later his mind no longer resembled a ball of cotton wool, but the leg was acting surprisingly tame. Which, given the fact that he had spent the last week overexerting it without mercy, shouldn't be possible. After almost six days (and nights) of that kind of treatment, he was expecting cramps, the pulsating pain of strained tendons and the feeling that someone poured gasoline on his thigh and set it on fire. Instead he felt only mild discomfort and pleasant warmth.

"What the hell?.." muttered House and opened his eyes.

On top of his blankets, nestled next to his right thigh, lay Wilson, curled in a little furry ball. For a moment House stared at the cat with disbelief, then he sat up and scratched his ears. The cat woke up and blinked his sleep-dazed eyes slowly.

House shook his head. "Know what? Maybe there's some use for you, Wilson."

"Mui!"

Wilson nuzzled against his hand and started purring.

**oooooooooooo**

House got out of bed, went to the bathroom (Wilson sat on the edge of the sink and watched with interest as House brushed his teeth) and then made himself a cup of wonderfully aromatic coffee, and shared the rest of the tuna salad with Wilson. He was planning on spending the rest of his well earned free day lounging about in his pajamas and channel-surfing, but it seemed he would have to go out after all. He had nothing against ordering pizza, but he didn't think pepperoni and olives would be good for the cat.

The noon passed and Wilson, sprawled on a couch next to him, started throwing fitful glances in the direction of the kitchen.

House let out a heavy sigh. "If not for the fact that the cat-compress is apparently good for me, you'd be getting leftover pizza. And maybe some mustard" he said, getting up.

"Mrau."

"You're welcome. I was going to go get some beer anyway. And don't expect me to fawn over you all the time. Cats are supposed to be independent and self-reliant" he added over his shoulder as he entered the bedroom.

Before he managed to get dressed (Wilson was sitting on the floor next to his bed and playing with the shoe-laces of his Converse sneakers) the phone in the living room rang. The cat stooped playing and looked at House.

"No way, I'm not picking up."

"Meow!"

"No, I'm sure it's nothing important. Either Wilson..."

"Mui!"

"...woke up in his hotel bed with somebody else's wife and he's panicking..." The cat glared at him. "...or Cuddy wants me to come to the hospital and save some idiot's life."

"Meow!"

"Wilson..."

"Mui!"

"...can take care of himself, he's got experience after all. And somebody else can save the idiot. It's a hospital after all, plenty of doctors wandering around."

The machine beeped three times and Cuddy's voice came from the living room. "House, pick up!"

"No way" muttered House, digging in his drawer in search of clean socks.

"House, I know you're there!"

"And?"

"We need you at the hospital. We've got a patient..."

"Incredible! A patient? In a _hospital_?!"

"...nausea, hallucinations, muscle tremors, problems with his sight and hearing, rash..."

"He ate some shrooms or some other crap!"

"...perfectly clean tox report."

House stopped tying his shoe-laces and looked up at the phone.

"House?"

A small smile appeared on his face. House stared at the phone and waited. He knew Cuddy and Cuddy knew him - he knew what his boss would say in a moment. He didn't have to wait long.

"I'll give you a week off clinic duty" sighed Cuddy.

_A little longer..._

"Two weeks! And don't push your luck, you won't get more!"

_Bingo!_

House went to the living room and picked up the phone. "I'll be there in half an hour" he said and hung up.

"Meow!"

House stopped mentally pursuing the list of possible diagnoses for his new case and looked at Wilson, sitting in the bedroom door, with surprise. He forgot about the cat!

"Hm. Now what?"

"Meow?"

"No way, I have no food and no litter box. You'd pee on my shoes or something."

"Meow!"

"I can't say I believe you. Besides, the way this apartment looks right now, if I left you here alone, you'd probably chew through some cords and I'd find a fried cat under my armchair."

House rubbed his eyes and came to a decision. He picked up his backpack and nodded towards the cat. "Hop in. Looks like we're going for a ride."

**oooooooooooo**

After arriving at the hospital, House quickly made his way to his office. Luckily the Ducklings were not in the conference room. House locked the door, closed the blinds and let slightly shaken up Wilson out of the backpack. The cat apparently didn't enjoy crazy motorcycle rides much.

"Okay, new rules" said House, sitting on the recliner and giving the cat a solemn look. "First, you do not leave this room. Second, no noise. Third, if you scratch my chair, eat the plants or pee on the carpet, you're getting mustard for dinner."

"Meow."

"Glad we understand each other. Here" said House, placing a bowl under his desk and filling it with cat food he bought on his way to the hospital. "I'll be back in few hours, behave."

**oooooooooooo**

Five hours later tired House got out of the elevator on the third floor. Diagnosing the patient went rather smoothly and now his Ducklings were busy with administering the right meds and monitoring him. _I'm getting the cat and going home..._ thought House, slowly walking towards Diagnostics.

The door to his office was open.

House almost ran inside and quickly looked around the room. No cats in sight.

"Great" he muttered to himself and carefully knelt down, peering under the desk.

"House, the meds are working, the patient... What are you doing?" said Foreman, who just then appeared in the door.

"Looking for Wilson" growled House from under the desk.

"Under your desk?"

Cameron stood behind Foreman and looked with confusion at her boss, who was currently moving the bookshelf and looking behind it.

"What are you looking for?"

House grumbled something unintelligible and leaned down to look under the recliner.

"Wilson" slightly worried Foreman answered her question.

"In your office? Under the recliner?"

"I hoped" replied House, straightening back up. "But some moron left the door open and Wilson apparently did a bunk."

Foreman and Cameron traded confused glances.

"House, Wilson is in New York, at a conference" said Cameron gently.

"Not that Wilson!"

"There's two of them?"

"Yes! One is probably hitting on some cute oncologist at a hotel bar in Manhattan. The other one is wandering around the hospital, because someone was snooping around my office and let him out!"

"I wasn't snooping, I brought you your mail!" huffed Cameron. "And there's no second Wilson, are you crazy?"

House ignored her and started towards the door.

"Where are you going?" asked Foreman.

"Where do you think? To find Wilson, before someone locks him in the morgue or finds him and throws him out the door!"

Foreman and Cameron looked at each other helplessly and followed after him.

"Wilson!"

"House, are you feeling all right?"

"Shut up, I won't be able to hear him. Wilson!"

"House..."

"Wilson!" bellowed House. The nurse who was passing by jumped nervously.

House stopped suddenly in the middle of the hallway and Foreman, who was running after him, almost bumped into him.

"Did you hear that?" asked House.

"Hear what?"

"That squeaking. There" said House, pointing in the direction of Oncology.

"Squeaking?"

"Wilson!"

Muffled _Mui!_ came from behind the office door. Cameron raised an eyebrow and opened her mouth to say something, but House pushed between her and Foreman, walking back towards his own office. Two doctors followed him and watched with worry as their apparently insane boss walked out on a rain-soaked balcony, jumped over the low wall and entered his best friend's office.

"House, Wilson's in New York, he's not..."

"There you are!" came from the office. Cameron and Foreman looked inside and froze. House, the terror of Princeton, was holding a small, brown cat in his arms and patting it's head.

"What did I say about leaving my office?"

"Meow."

"Yeah, right. I can see how sorry you are. And how did you get in here?"

"Meow."

"You have a cat?" Foreman finally stuttered out. Cameron stared at House with her mouth hanging open.

"Meow!" said the cat.

"You do realize it's just coincidental similarity of names, right?" House asked the cat.

"Meow."

"The couch in my living room is yours, this office belongs to that other Wilson."

"Mui!"

"Your... your cat's name is _Wilson_?!"

"Mui!"

House pushed his way between his two employees and went back on the balcony, completely ignoring their stunned expressions.

"No tuna for you" he said categorically. "And no more trips to work. Bad Wilson."

"Mui!"

House put the cat in his backpack and left, leaving two completely bewildered doctors behind.

**oooooooooooo**

tbc.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N**: For a standard disclaimer see my profile. Once again – thank you for reviewing. :) This chapter is a bit more serious and a little angsty, I hope you'll enjoy it. The final chapter will be up some time Thursday evening (Polish time).

**oooooooooooo**

After the intense and exhausting week a little peace was exactly what House needed. He spent Sunday with Wilson on the couch, alternating between Chinese and peanut butter, sipping on good whiskey, watching one stupid show after another and running commentary on the more idiotic fragments of the program. Wilson mainly purred.

On Monday morning House had a serious conversation about house rules with Wilson and, when he was certain the cat understood everything that he should understand, he went to work. There he found out that the Ducklings didn't have any new cases for him. House reasoned that if Cuddy couldn't find him, she wouldn't be able to present him with yet another case of a kid with a sprained ankle and the amazing luck of being the only son of a wealthy sponsor. Putting that theory into practice, he spent most of the day avoiding her like a plague (or at least like normal people avoided the plague) and looking extremely busy every time there were any nurses in sight.

Miraculously it worked. Cuddy was either lying in her office, crushed under a ton of paperwork requiring her signature, or she was losing touch in her old age.

House decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth and as soon as his three clinic hours were over (spent in an empty exam room in a company of several extraordinarily stupid tabloids and his Gameboy), he vacated the premises in record time.

"How was it, no disasters? Were you bored without me?" House asked Wilson, picking him up from the floor.

Wilson gave him a cat version of a quiet snort in reply and rubbed his head against House's jaw. House chuckled and put Wilson back on the floor.

"Come on, let's see what food we've got left."

"Meow!"

_I should have gotten myself a cat years ago, _thought House and surprised himself so much that he almost tripped over an excited Wilson. What surprised him even more was his reaction - instead of habitually getting pissed at the cause of his near-fall, his own clumsiness and, just in case, the rest of the world, House leaned down to check if the cat was all right.

This time, when Wilson looked at him and let out a soft purr, House didn't even try to hide his smile.

**oooooooooooo**

After three lazy days came Wednesday, which, for a change, was an absolute nightmare. During the night a thick blanket of low, gray-blue clouds had rolled over Princeton and House's leg reminded him which one of them was really the boss.

Cat compress and Vicodin swallowed right before going to bed didn't help at all. House woke up at five in the morning to a feeling that his thigh was about to explode. He groaned softly and, without opening his eyes, reached for his pills - waiting for him on a nightstand, as always. The rattling of Vicodin tablets woke Wilson.

"Meow?"

House swallowed two pills and finally gathered the courage to open one eye. Wilson was sitting on his pillow, no more than ten inches from his face, and staring at him intently.

"Didn't anybody tell you it's rude to stare? Never seen a cripple?" muttered House through clenched teeth. Even the double dose of Vicodin needed few minutes to kick in.

"Meow?"

House grimaced. "Besides, I can smell what you had for dinner. Yuck. Git, Wilson..."

"Mui!"

The cat, as is customary for most cats, didn't listen. Instead he moved two feet away and sniffed the orange bottle, clenched tightly in House's hand. After a moment he shook himself with obvious disgust, hissed and started to poke the hand with his paw, as if he were trying to knock the bottle out of House's grasp.

"Oh Christ, don't tell me that _you_ are going to bug me about this too!" groaned House. "One Saint Wilson..."

"Mui!"

"...is enough, give it a break!"

Of course the cat completely ignored him and continued to show how much he didn't like House's favorite toys.

"Please" said House quietly and the cat froze, with one paw in the air. "It hurts. It really hurts like all hell, all the time. And sometimes even more, like today."

Wilson meowed softly and returned to his usual spot. He curled up there, as always nestled against House's leg, and glanced first at House and than at the plastic bottle in his hand.

House laughed quietly. "Thanks. I really with this were enough, I wish I could throw those damn pills away, before they finally kill me. I can't, but thanks anyway" he said and leaned down to pat the cat. The muscles under Wilson's soft fur were tense and trembled slightly.

"Hey, don't worry about me, okay? It's just a bad day" said House, his voice more gentle than anyone who knew him would believe. "Besides, it's not your job to worry, Wilson."

"Mui" the cat gave a tiny squeak, still staring House straight in the eye.

House smiled and made the first attempt to bend his right knee. The leg still hurt horribly, but Vicodin was clearly beginning to work. Few minutes later House felt brave enough to get up.

"Come on. Breakfast, coffee and then I will play something for you" said House to the cat and slowly, with one hand gripping his cane and the other trailing the wall, walked to the living room.

**oooooooooooo**

Double dose of Vicodin and some blues to distract him were enough for the next three hours. Around eight House felt the muscles, already irritated by the nasty weather, beginning to tense and twist in an inevitably approaching spasm. He managed to get to the couch, lay down and curl up, before the pain hit him with full force.

"Oh Christ" he moaned, both hands holding his right thigh in a white-knuckled grip.

"Meow?..."

House opened his eyes. Wilson was sitting on the floor next to the couch, visibly frightened, his eyes wide.

"Don't be scared, you silly cat" muttered House. "It will pass. Everything will be fine." He reached to his pocket with trembling hands and dry-swallowed another Vicodin. "It will pass."

Wilson jumped up on the couch and curled up pressed against House's chest, mixing the sound of loud purring with House's too fast heartbeat and ragged breathing. After several minutes the meds, exhaustion and the warm furry ball snuggled up to him did their thing and House fell asleep.

**oooooooooooo**

Three hours later the phone woke them both up. The spasm was over, but the leg was still throbbing with pain. House groaned and glanced at the clock over the fireplace. Eleven. He should have been in the clinic an hour ago, which probably meant that there was a very irritated Dean of Medicine on the other end of that call, ready to slap him with the extra shift, unless he got to work by noon.

The call went to the machine and after a beep House heard the familiar voice.

"House! Where are you!" snarled Cuddy. "So help me, if you don't pick up right now, I'm suspending you for a week! And I won't let you out of the clinic for another week!"

House grit his teeth and with great effort managed to get off the couch. His thigh kept sending furious flashes of pain along his spine and straight to his brain every time he put any weight on his right leg, so he reached the phone awkwardly hopping on his left.

"Cuddy..."

"Oh, what do you know. Esteemed Doctor House was kind enough to pick up. What's going on with you?"

"Cuddy, I can't come in today" said House. "My leg..."

"Right" his irritated boss interrupted him. "Your leg. Next time you're nursing a hangover, come up with a good cover story and call _before _your shift starts. And you'll make up for today on Friday. You're lucky your team doesn't have a patient" she said and hung up.

House put down the phone and let out a heavy sigh.

"Meow" said Wilson from the couch.

"Yeah, I know" said House, leaning against the wall. "Life is almost always unfair and sucks. Nothing you can do about it, cat."

They looked at each other in silence for a few moments. Finally House swallowed another pill and, grimacing after every step, walked to the shelf where his DVD collection sat.

"On Wednesdays Wilson..."

"Mui."

"...comes and we watch old movies and drink beer. You like Hitchcock?"

"Meow!"

"That's what I though."

**oooooooooooo**

tbc.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N**: For a disclaimer see my profile. Well, that's it, folks. Thanks for the ride, I'm very grateful for all your comments and encouragements. Go ahead and let me know what you think about the way the story ends. :)

And if you liked it, you may want to read "A Different Dream", a sequel of sorts to this story.

**oooooooooooo**

Wilson didn't leave House out of his sight for even a moment for the rest of the day. He sat next to him on a couch, trailed after him to the kitchen and to the phone, when House got up to order something for dinner. He didn't even let him go to the bathroom alone. Had the word existed in House's vocabulary, he would have called it "sweet".

However, since the only use of that word that was acceptable for House was "red lollipops at the PPTH front desk are sweet and yummy", he limited himself to calling Wilson a furry idiot and gratefully scratching his ears for the best part of the evening. The cat apparently understood what he meant anyway and didn't expect anything else.

During the night at Wednesday the weather cleared a little bit and House woke up feeling much better than the day before. The new day still didn't qualify as "good", but - stretching the meaning a bit - it could be called "tolerable". After swallowing his Vicodin - only one this time - and a tentative walk around the couch House decided he could manage going to work today.

Wilson, judging by his behavior, had his doubts. First he followed House's every step with worried looks. Then he tried to make his morning bathroom routine and getting dressed impossible at all cost, even going so far as stealing House's sneakers and pushing them so far under the dresser that House had no hope of getting them out, until he would feel well enough to move the furniture around. Finally the cat sat in front of the door, looking determined and evidently planning on not letting House leave the apartment.

House sat on the bench in front of his piano and begun negotiations. "Wilson..."

"Mui!"

"...you stupid cat. I have to go to work, nothing will happen to me."

"Meow!"

"Sure, you know better. Remind me again, which one of us is a doctor here?"

"Meow!"

"I have to go to the hospital and invent some crazy story on my way there, to explain playing truant yesterday and piss Cuddy off."

Wilson blinked in surprise. "Meow?"

"What would be the point? You heard her yesterday. She won't believe me anyway, even if I tell her the truth."

Wilson lay down on the floor and rested his head on his front paws. "Meow..."

House shrugged. "I told you - unfair and sucks. But it's better that way. I'm a mean bastard, I lie and I don't give a shit about anyone. Everyone's happy. I'd rather they didn't know that few times a month I'm actually a worthless, pathetic cripple, who can't walk twenty feet from the couch to the bathroom on his own."

"Meow?..."

"Because then they would start treating me like a worthless, pathetic cripple even on the good days, when I'm just a mean bastard."

The cat stared at him for a long while, then he walked up to him, jumped up on the bench and nudged House's hand with his nose.

"Mrau..."

"Thanks." House smiled. "Does it mean I can go now?"

"Meow."

"Great. Don't worry so much, stress is unhealthy. I'll be home late, I expect Cuddy will spot me as soon as I'm through the door and will send em to do something boring. Behave, Wilson" said House, opening the door.

"Meow" said the cat and House smiled.

"Sure, I will behave too."

**oooooooooooo**

Cuddy didn't disappoint. He didn't even manage to reach the elevators when she got to him. She chewed him out for shirking his duties, chewed him out for lying to his boss, chewed him out for making public comments about the "twins" (this, unlike the rest of it, he deserved) and finally handed him a file of some poor bastard who, for reasons unknown, was bleeding out of every orifice and hearing voices.

Thoroughly chewed out and resigned House limped to the Diagnostics, spent a moment tormenting the Ducklings to improve his mood, then begun diagnosing their new case.

Luckily the case turned out to be fairly interesting - enough that it distracted House from his increasingly angry leg. After fifteen minutes of throwing the ideas back and forth, he sent Cameron to redo the tests that the other doctors ran and sat down on the recliner to wait for the results and, without much success, try to massage the pain out of his throbbing muscles.

After a moment he noticed that Chase and Foreman were staring at him with interest.

"What?" he growled. "I've got something on my nose? My socks don't match?"

Chase shot him an uncertain smile. "Cameron and Foreman say you've got a cat."

"Ah. Sure. I thought you wanted to ask me about something completely irrelevant and unimportant, like for example my theories about our patient. My apologies. It's good to know that you're focused on what's really important."

Chase looked surprised. "So you _do _have a cat? I thought they were pulling my leg."

"Fantastic. Who cares about the patient! Joe..."

"Henry" Foreman corrected him.

"...can bleed to death, what do we care. All that matters is that you know everything about Wilson."

Chase's eyebrows shot up. "He's name really is Wilson?"

House scowled at him. "No. I was talking about the Boy Wonder Oncologist from the next office. I'm his press agent. What would you like to know? Shoe size? First love? Plans for the future?"

Chase shook his head in disbelief.

"Did you tell Wilson about this?" asked Foreman, sounding amused.

"Did I tell my cat that I had a cat? I think he noticed."

"The other Wilson."

"There's two of them?" House feigned surprise.

Foreman rolled his eyes.

"Besides, I think you called him as soon as I left on Sunday."

Foreman looked down. "Um. We tried."

"Couldn't do it? What do you know, when I hired you guys, I was sure you knew how to use a phone."

"Wilson didn't pick up, not in his hotel room phone and not his cell."

"He was probably busy flirting with someone" House shrugged. "I wouldn't pick up the call from you either."

"That's why we used the phone in _your _office."

House looked up. "Hm. I probably wouldn't pick up the call from me either." He picked the medical journal from the table and tried to make it clear that he considered the topic closed.

"It's going to be weird, once Doctor Wilson comes back. We won't know which Wilson you're talking about" Chase mused aloud.

House glowered at him. "Yeah, it will be almost impossible to tell from the context. After all Jimmy always purrs when you scratch his ears and my cat will be tremendously helpful when we get a patient with lung cancer."

"You scratch your cat's ears?" Apparently Foreman had some trouble imagining something like this.

"No" grumbled House. "I keep him in a cold, dank cellar, only feed him once a week and I kick him every time he wanders near me."

"And where does Wilson sleep?" asked Chase, smirking.

Before House was forced to come up with something in order to save the remains of his reputation, Cameron marched in with a folder in hand and a worried expression on her face. "We've got a problem" she said.

"Thank God" muttered House and gingerly stood up.

**oooooooooooo**

House didn't manage to leave the hospital almost until midnight. Actually, he shouldn't have left at all, because the patient's condition suddenly worsened and the test results, brought by Cameron, raised more questions than they answered.

The leg didn't care at all. House kept swallowing Vicodin like candy, tried to walk the cramps out by pacing in a corridor in front of his office, he spent half an hour listening to jazz on the floor, went to argue with Cuddy - nothing helped. Around ten in the night his thigh was burning and throbbing in agony, and he couldn't force himself to focus. He finally gave up an hour and a half later, after Foreman had to repeat the latest test results three times, before House registered what the man was even talking about.

"I'm going home" he said and, not paying any attention to his Ducklings' protests, slowly walked to the door. "Make sure the patient doesn't kick off until morning. And run some tests, we'll need new ideas tomorrow, the ones from today apparently suck."

**oooooooooooo**

Half an hour later House clambered out of the cad and, carefully stepping around the freezing puddles, walked to the green door at 221B. He went inside, leaving the frozen and rain-soaked street behind and sighed in relief. Without taking his shoes off he dragged himself to the couch, fell on the soft cushions with a blissful expression and closed his eyes.

"Wilson, I'm home!" he yelled.

Nothing. He didn't hear the pitter-patter of soft paws on a wood floor, or that strange squeak that Wilson always made when he said his name. No sound at all.

"Wilson?" repeated House and opened his eyes. Something was wrong. The apartment looked exactly like it always did, bur for some reason it seemed strangely... empty. Something was missing.

"Wilson?"

House grimaced and got up from the couch. Fifteen minutes later he knew, what was wrong. The apartment was missing a cat.

Wilson wasn't in the bathroom, bedroom, kitchen or the living room. House, ignoring the protests voiced by his leg, looked under every dresser and shelf, under the bed, in every corner of the apartment - including the ones not big enough to fit a mouse, not to mention a grown cat. He even checked the oven, the washing machine and the closed underwear drawer. Nothing.

Apparently Wilson managed to get out of the apartment somehow and he disappeared, even if House had no idea how the cat did that. All the windows had been closed and the only person, beside him, who had the key, was in New York.

House stood leaning against the counter in the kitchen, stared at the empty bowl on the floor, and, not very effectively, tried to convince himself that he wasn't feeling sad, when the doorbell rang. House glanced at his watch and looked at the door with surprise. Only one person ever came by at that hour, but...

"Wilson?" said House, staring at his completely drenched friend, standing behind the door.

"Hi" said Wilson quietly.

"What are you doing here? I thought you were coming back on Saturday morning?"

Wilson didn't answer, only fixed his eyes on the floor. Something was wrong. Getting more worried by a minute, House stepped aside to let him in. Wilson went inside and for a minute just stood without a word next to the couch, dark puddle growing on a carpet under his feet.

"What happened?" House broke the silence and walked up to Wilson. The younger man raised his eyes and for a moment it seemed like he wanted to say something, but in the end he looked down again and just stood there, shivering from the cold, drops of water falling from his soaked, brown hair.

"Wilson? Jimmy?" said House quietly, putting his hand on Wilson's shoulder. "Christ, say something! You know I'm hopeless with this stuff..."

Wilson took a step forward and hugged House, hiding his face in House's shoulder. House stopped in the middle of a word and froze with his arms full of a shivering oncologists but without a faintest idea what was going on.

"Wilson?"

"I'm sorry" whispered Wilson, holding on to the fabric of House's shirt for dear life.

"What for?" asked House, completely confused. "You have nothing to be sorry..."

"I'm sorry!" Wilson interrupted him, his voice frantic. "Christ, House... I... I had no idea... I'm sorry, I'm so sorry..."

"What for?" repeated House, putting an uncertain and awkward hand on Wilson's shaking back.

"I... You told us so many times and we... And I... I never believed you! I'm sorry, I'm sorry..."

"All right, it's all right now" said House quietly, desperately searching for something that would calm his friend down. "It's not your fault. Life is just..."

"...unfair and sucks. I know" finished Wilson.

Stunned, House took half a step back and looked at his friend. "How..."

Wilson sniffled and smiled a little. "It usually is. But not always, it doesn't have to be. House, no matter what, you are not, you never were and you never will be a worthless, pathetic cripple" he said with sudden seriousness, looking House straight in the eye.

House froze. _Impossible_, flashed through his head. _How did he..._ Completely flabbergasted, he stared at Wilson, and his brilliant mind created one possible explanation after another, throwing them all away after a moment of consideration. All but one.

When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.

"Wilson?" whispered House with disbelief and... hope?

Wilson gave him a wide smile.

"Meow?"

**oooooooooooo**

fin.


End file.
